Professor
by mostenoble
Summary: /if that interests you.../Hermione has always known, in her bones, something was off. Maybe it was how she admired Professor McGonagall, or the hearts that outlined Professor Lockhart's lessons, or maybe..Maybe it was just Professor Lupin.


**2016 Monthly Prompt List Challenge - [Pairing] Remus/Hermione**

 **I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, I'd be much punnier, because my name would be J.K Rowling and I'd make heaps of jokes about 'how did I get down the hill?'.**

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Hermione was an essential nerd. She got nearly everything right, she started studying in October for the exams in May, she took a big bag of books everywhere she went, and all her crushes, so far, had happened to be on...

...teachers.

It had started in first year, with Professor McGonagall. She was tall and strict with a severe bun and long emerald robes, but her eyes lit up with every answer Hermione provided. Every time Hermione had entered Transfiguration, her stomach turned into a swarm of bats as the woman's steely gaze landed on her. She'd tried her best, even with the sweat collecting on her collar and soaking the armpits of her shirt, and she'd done well enough. Professor McGonagall would actually give a tight-lipped _smile_ when she said good about Hermione, and it sent shudders tracing the very surface of her skin.

Next had been Professor Lockhart. _Not_ that she really wanted to admit that to others, but he had been. Far more youthful than Professor McGonagall, and handsomer, with silky golden hair falling in soft waves just past his ears, bright blue eyes dancing under the candlelight at soft skin, cool to the touch, draped in heavy blue and fluorescent pink robes. He'd defeated nearly every beast ever known to harm the wizarding world, too. He wrote the entire booklist, all with his pictures in the book jackets, winking out at her, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw. More than a few times, she imagined the muscles that must've been hidden beneath his robes; strong outlines danced in her head, a handsome man who actually _liked_ her. She answered every question on his quiz perfectly, and for _once,_ someone nice-looking took note of her, and not just to taunt her. He had dazzling, _straight_ white teeth that he would flash at her, the sort of teeth Hermione dreamed of having.

Then, he'd turned out to be a fraud, a fake, a real nobody with good looks, and she'd been so embarrassed she'd hidden her face for weeks, cheeks burnt permanently redder than Ron's hair. She'd sworn to herself ten times over that she wouldn't like anymore teachers; she'd be _fourteen_ in September, far too old for any of that nonsense. She'd find someone nice in her own grade, or if she liked older, the grade above. Chewing on a quill, she'd brainstormed a list of names; Cormac McLaggen was supposed to be popular, Theodore Nott from Slytherin was the 'cool and quiet' type. _Anyone_ would do, as long as they weren't a teacher.

And then third year steamrolled her hopes and dreams.

Professor Lupin was kind and considerate, with thin, browning hair and the cleverest glint in his eyes and he even called her 'Hermione'. He gave her the points she earnt in every class and told her how bright she was, and he was kind to Harry and gave him chocolate on the train. He had a lopsided smile and a chip off his right tooth and shabby robes. He was the opposite of Professor Lockhart, not at all flashy but more significant in other ways. Her fingers trembled when she saw him and her heart shattered her ribs as she drowned just trying to please him.

Hermione drummed her fingers on the table as he praised her, reading out her newest essay, smiling with crinkled eyes and that big broad lopsided smile and her palms were clammy. With careful, soft, spidery fingers he brushed the paper onto her desk, his shoulder rubbing her cheek and her chest contracted. He stood up slowly, eyes laughing at her, and she felt her face turn to fire.

"I expect you'd be a promising Astronomy student, Hermione, you've done very well on your analysis of the planetary cycles and its effects on the Grindylow." She squeezed her knees together, making slow eye contact with Professor Lupin, whose worn skin seemed to hum with a new energy, a new youthfulness. For a few moments Hermione's eyes blurred and she could pretend the grey wasn't there, that he was only sixteen or seventeen, not too much older. Her chest rattled. _He wants me to reply._

"I also have a curiosity in the moon cycles, Professor Lupin," it was a gentle poke to test the waters, not that she _cared_ \- it didn't mean anything to her if he was a werewolf, nothing at all except that she'd know why he was pale and withdrawn all the time and what was hurting him and she could read up on some way to make it _better._ That was all he did, he always _always_ made people better no matter what, even if it cost him everything and some part of her heart yearned for that, for him. His eyebrows knitted, his thin lips pressed together and he stood up abruptly, eyes narrow.

"I, myself, do not care for it much, but if that is what interests you..." He had walked away and she could hardly breathe, she remembered the feeling of his heat on her cheek and neck and dug her nails into her palms, trying to swallow the swooping feeling in her chest. Her eyes were shut tight, her fists and teeth clenched, shaking.

 _This cannot be happening._


End file.
